I’m a man of many talents. I’m intelligent and funny - well, at least I think I am. I’m good at keeping a tune, I’m a fast runner and I can read upside down. I’m a professional coffee drinker, an expert at saving money, and I tear through any book I can get my hands on.

I’m also an aspiring author.

I realize how arrogant this sounds; it’s just that with my situation as it is, I try my best to focus on the positives.

But if I were to think realistically, the bad aspects of my life far outweigh the good ones. Like I said, I try to forget about it all, but it’s difficult. Difficult when you can’t find a place to sleep or hit zero in your bank account (not that there was much left in there anyway).

All I own is a couple of pairs of clothes, two notebooks, a credit card, a sleeping bag and a laptop.

I don’t know where I’d be if it wasn’t for my laptop - I wouldn’t be writing, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t be planning, wouldn’t have my book outline, wouldn’t be researching and drafting and creating. I wouldn’t be showing the world that I could write a book.

They never believed in me. They began always doubtful and judgmental from afar, then grew into bullies as the years progressed.

I quit school last year.

There, I said it. I’m a failure, aren’t I?

I couldn’t take it anymore - things were getting worse at home, and they were already bad at school. My grades were on a steady decline, and I hid in corners at lunch, earbuds in and fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

My parents didn’t care, and still don’t. My dad was almost never home and my mom - well, she’d never liked me, and the alcohol didn’t help.